


In his dreams

by RussianWitch



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP, no redeeming qualities what so ever, slight case of angst/feels?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The difference between reality and dreams. <br/>Sucky summary since there is really no plot at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In his dreams

**Author's Note:**

> not Beta'd if you feel the urge give a yell, you'll have my undying gratitude and metaphysical cookies.

In his dreams she squirms on his tongue squealing in delight eager for him like no woman has ever been. He buries his face between her legs, nuzzles at auburn curls, laps at her juices until she sings for him. Her hands pull at his hair, drawing him up to cover her body, her soft skinned limbs wrapping around his scarred carcass in welcome as he pushes inside of her.   
She feels like fire, he is getting burned all over again only this time he is ready to howl with joy. There is pain together with the pleasure, her surprisingly sharp nails clawing at his back as her hips rise to meet his thrusts.  
When he pulls out she groans in disappointment but allows herself to be manhandled on to her knees. Arse in the air, open cunt quivering with need, it's intoxicating to imagine the need solely directed at him.   
He fucks her like a dog fucks a bitch, rough and mindless in his pleasure his face buried in her fiery hair to the tune of her whimpers and moans.   
Even in his fantasy he isn't gentle with her; he's never learned how and doesn't see a point in lying to himself.   
A small almost shriveled part of him would like to be far kinder to her than he knows himself to be. It's the same part that wants her to be kinder to him in return, or at least not to flinch when she looks at his face.   
All of that rubbish is wishful thinking of course.

He does what he can for the little bird, watches from the shadows and from around corners like the mutt that he is. He gets drunk when he feels his control slipping and everything in him screams for him to go to her, to take her again and again until he has burned her out of his system.   
She in return tries to control her flinching every time he comes close and be the polite little lady she has been raised to be.   
His head aches from the Dornish red he has been drowning himself in yet his cock throbs with all the thoughts of her in his head. Annoyed with him-self, with her and with the world he closes his hand around his cock imagining her delicate little hand filled with his flesh. He can imagine her Tully blue eyes wide and round as she touching a man for the first time, her pretty pink lips open as she pants with the shock and arousal of exploration. If he's honest with himself he wouldn't have the patience to let her explore (if he is devastatingly honest with himself he isn't sure if he would dare to touch her for fear of breaking her) he'd probably just grab her and...the least he would do to her is stick his cock between her budding tits and rub himself off until he spends on her pretty face.   
With a groan he spends himself in to his hand wiping it off on his sheets and fastening his pants. His head still aches and his mood is foul because he knows that no matter what he will be lucky if he can touch a lock of her hair sometime. 

Getting dressed doesn't take any time at all he buckles his sword on and finds the gloves he tossed away without looking the night before. He throws open the door half hoping to scare some servant girl or another just because he can and because he has never believed in sparing others his foul moods.  
Instead of a wench he is confronted with her; round-eyed and trembling pressing herself in to the opposing corridor wall like she can disappear in to it, her heaving tits straining against the bodies of her dress.   
Despite having just spent his cock stirs again from just looking at her.

"Have you gotten lost little bird? These corridors are no place for the likes of you, no lords or knights around here to serenade you and listen to your chirping. Only men who want what's between your legs and don't care much if you're noble or not." 

He supposes it's all the frustration coming out, with her and being at court forced to be a member of the Kingsguard and the little shit who is king. Sandor misses the battlefield where things are far easier and where there is no room for pretty little birds to tempt him at all hours of the day.  
He can see her digging her manners, her only defence against the world, pulling them around her like a cloak.  
She straightens her spine and almost looks him right in the face only a slight tremble of her lower lip betraying the fact that she's still terrified, probably more so now that he's opened his gob.

"I came looking for you my Lo...Sandor."

It always amuses him some to see her struggle with having to do without the usual pleasantries.

"And why would you look for me little bird?" 

He can't help himself, crowding her back against the wall. Looming as he is over her he can smell her skin, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting her, running his tongue over her skin.   
Only when she squeaks in distress does he realize that he has boxed her in against the wall holding her prisoner between his arms bent enough that they are almost face to face.

"Why are you here?" 

Her mouth is open but nothing comes out, any minute now someone could pass and see the head of the Kingsguard menacing the king's fiancée. Joffrey would find amusing but it would make others wonder and think about things they have no business thinking about. Sandor can see her tongue unconsciously slipping out to wet her lips, coupled with her proximity and innocent fear it breaks something in him.

If all else fails he can always claim still being drunk.  
Surging forward he takes her lips before she can turn away, licks in to her mouth hunting every bit of her taste.   
She is as sweet as he imagines her with a lemony after-taste from all the fucking cakes she eats. Thou where they are still getting lemons with the city on lock-down, is a mystery to him.   
When he is out of breath and she is whimpering in to his mouth does he let her go. Only after dragging in another lung-full of air does he realize that she isn't fighting him, hasn't tried to squirm away and that her hands tangled in his hair are preventing him from pulling away instead of pushing at him to let go.  
She looks as dazed as he feels, his baser urges tempt him to taste her again maybe even pick her up and drag her back to his room. He wrenches himself away taking several steps back while cursing the sudden reappearance of his long absent decency.

"What the fuck are you doing here girl?" 

She shakes her head as if to clear the daze before answering.

"I wanted to thank you, for rescuing me."

"You ain't thanking me by wandering around these corridors alone...Couldn't you have waited until the feast tonight to chirp at me?" 

She blushes and looks away like the girl that she is.

"I did not want the king to make sport of my gratitude." 

Peaking up at him she licks her lips again and he has a damn hard time reminding himself that she's just a child and not for him anyway. She steps closer oblivious to what she's doing to him, how close she is to...

"And I am very grateful se...Sandor, I wish I could thank you in a way you would not mock me for." 

With her so close by and with her taste still on his tongue he can think of several ways she could thank him. All would end badly for her and probably for him as well. 

"You don't thank a dog for doing it's master's bidding. Run along now before someone comes looking for you and if you're feel indebted sing me a song sometimes about your true knights." 

He pushes her away as gently as he can and turns away ready to go back to his room again to frig his cock in to submission to the memory of her touch.  
Only, idiot girl that she is, she doesn't listen but places herself in his way again reaching for him again.   
He doesn't realize that he's a goner at first, just suddenly finds himself with his arms full of the girl, kicking open the door to his chambers dragging her back to his lair.   
Strange thing is she doesn't protest.

Instead she clutches at him offering her lips up for another kiss, hesitant and clumsy grabbing at his shoulders where she should be clawing at him and screaming for the guards.  
He slams the bolt on the door pressing her against the wood with his body only to remember that he's still wearing his sword-belt. Undoing the thick leather belt with only one hand is clumsy work that makes him growl in annoyance but he isn't willing to let go of the girl lest she turn in to a mirage. 

When belt and sword clatter to the floor he lets his hands slide down, cup her ass as he presses in close before pulling up her skirts. She blushes prettily as he bares her legs clutching tighter at his shoulders and finally looking away but still doesn't protest, not even when he wraps his hands around her bare thighs and pulls her slender limbs apart. He hoists her up guiding her legs around his waist. He can feel the heat of her cunt against his crotch with only his breeches and her small clothes separating them. Keeping her pinned to the door with his lower body Sandor turns his attention to her bodice fumbling with the laces cursing as he tries to keep from tearing them. He knew that her tits would be milky white but he hadn't imagined her nipples to be dark pink, almost brown in colour standing up tight with excitement. He cups them, filling his rough hands with her tits testing their weight and marvelling that she leans in to his grasp instead pulling away. He ducks his head nuzzling at her neck and tasting her response as he tastes her skin. Sandor licks over her collarbone, down to nuzzle between her tits and follow the curve of one with his tongue only to look up shocked when his scarred cheek grazes against her nipple and she pulls him close to rub against the texture of his scars, her mouth falling open in pleasure.  
He turns his head closing his mouth around her nipple to lick and suck at the tight bit of flesh. He's never had the patience for his kind of play before, never seen the point really, but with the sounds she makes for him he's almost ready to spend hours just exploring her flesh.

Freeing a hand he slips it down, finds the edge of her small cloths and forces his way in. Her curls down there are rougher to the touch catching on his fingers as he slides them further down. Even before he finds the edge of her cunt he can feel her dampness. His fingers slide between her nether lips, explore her slick flesh to find her entrance and slowly push a finger in. Silencing her whimper with a kiss he slowly pushes in and out, this thumb finding the sensitive bit of flesh he's hears spoken of but never bothered with before at the top of her cunt.

She calls his name, her voice breaking, and he looks up from where he's mouthing her tit again to see her pretty pink mouth hanging open and her eyes wide with shock and hazy with pleasure. He finds that she's been pulling at his tunic ineffectually, her hands digging under his collar to touch his skin. When he pulls his hands from between her legs she actually growls with displeasure reminding him that she's a wolf, if a caged one from birth. He looks at his fingers wet with her, glossy with a pearly shine before deliberately licking them clean.  
Sansa squeaks scandalized at his action making him laugh and want more of her taste. He pulls her away from the door holding her close as he carries her to his narrow bed as she kisses his cheeks. Putting her down he carefully untangles her from the dress that has gotten twisted around her waist. She bites her lip and he can see that she wants to cover herself coming out of her haze now that he isn't touching her any longer. He pulls his tunic and shirt off before kneeling next to her on the bed.  
She reaches out for him, sitting up to put her small hands on his chest. Her fingers trace his scars and he feels the urge to look away again but then her finger slide lower over his abdomen towards the laces of his breeches and he can't help but look. She is the she is the only woman he can recall to reach for his with eagerness. He watches as Sansa unties the laces of his breeches slowly, exploring uncharted territory and he is going out of his mind with the need to fuck her senseless. Her small hands pet the hair surrounding it before encountering his aching flesh.  
To feel her slender fingers closing his cock he can't contain a growl that startles her in to pulling her hand back. Before she can get too far he grabs her wrist pulling it back to close around his cock again and guiding her in stroking it. 

"Take a good look girl, might be the only man's cock you'll ever see."

It's stupid of him; reminding her of reality but he can't help himself. She frowns and nods at him leaning in close to study his flesh up close giving him visions of her pretty lips closing around it. Sandor feels her breath on his aching flesh as she traces the veins and strokes delicately over the weeping head. He has to push her away in the end before she drives him completely insane, dump her on her back on to the middle of the bed. She sprawls there inelegantly limbs spread out her scarlet curls drawing his eyes to her cunt; just as pink as her lips and glistening with her juices. All of a sudden his mouth is dry and all he can think about is licking her until his thirst is sated. Sansa lets out a scream when he lunges shouldering her legs further apart to make enough room for himself, buries his face between her legs licking her open as he goes until he can push his tongue deep inside her. He can hear her praying to the Seven above him, when he looks up a bit he can see her tits heaving as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes closed in abandon and her fingers digging viciously in to the covers; the sight only encourages him. Sandor scrapes his teeth against the nub of flesh and she sings out a song far sweeter than her usual nonsense of knights and fair maidens. He can feel her muscles tighten under his touch; she struggles in his grip but still not to get away from him. Her hands finding his hair again trying to keep him where she wants him, Sandor finds himself grinning against her flesh.  
Watching her come is a revelation he watches a mixture of pleasure and surprise, watches her body arch and shake knowing that he has made it happen. She whimpers his name like a prayer pulling at him until he is crouching over her still trembling body; face still wet with her juices. When her trembling subsides a little, she reaches out wiping his lips and blushing fiercely when he licks her fingers clean. 

"Will you sing as sweetly when I fuck you little bird?"

He can feel her eyes travel down his body to his cock. He's been ignoring the ache between his legs in favour of pleasuring her, but now it demands his attention again. She bites her lip, he can see apprehension starting to grow in her eyes but her arms wrap around his torso drawing him down.

"Sansa..."

He should tell her that she doesn't have to do, that having her close is enough to get him off, that it would be safer for both of them if Sandor keeps his cock away from her. She doesn't protest and he isn't that good of a man. She whimpers as he enters her with slow short thrusts, but she doesn't seem in pain something that seems to surprise them both.   
It seems an age before he's fully sheathed inside her, by then they are both panting and he has Sansa's legs around his waist keeping their bodies plastered together. She moans and whimpers in to his ear, her nails gorge his back.  
Whores feel different, he has never felt like he would never want to let go with anyone else. Of course most were whores or peasants hoping to gain something from offering themselves for his pleasure. Sansa has nothing to gain and everything to lose and yet she sighs for more. He is leaving bruises on her fair skin and a part of his is pleased that she will be marked as his.  
Sandor knows he isn't going to last, he's wanted her for far too long, he slips his fingers between them pinching the nub that has brought her so much pleasure before while thrusting in hard. He has to smother her scream by taking her mouth in a vicious kiss this time; his own bellow of pleasure is lost in the bedding. She tightens around him as she comes again milking his release out of him. For him nothing but Sansa exists in that moment wrapped as he is in the feel, smell, sight and sound of her. He doesn't want to leave her cunt, wants to stay buried in her until he's hard again and do the whole thing over again but he forces himself to pull, roll off of her, before he lets himself drop. Sansa doesn't let him go far, twists with him and wiggles around to lie half on his chest looking like he imagines she did when her septa caught her doing something she shouldn't yet inexplicably proud. 

"Pleased with yourself are you?"

She looks away from him.

"Even now you can't refrain from mocking?"

"You knew who I was when you came to me girl. Don't expect something different now."

She sighs in to his chest and he almost feels compelled to apologize.

"I know you are a better man than Joffrey... What happens now?"

He wonders the same thing; she can't stay in King's Landing, not without being married off and discovered eventually. He still has money from the King's tourney stashed away having nothing else to spend it on but wine. IF he can get her on a ship he can get her the hell out of Westeros. They could live in one of the cities there or take the long way back to the north and back to her lands. For a time she can be his and his alone before anyone tries to take her away or she gets sick of an old dog's company.   
Sandor wraps an arm around her narrow waist, pulling her close.

"Now we get the fuck out of King's Landing as soon as I can arrange it."

She smiles down on him and leans in for a kiss and Sandor marvels at how much pleasure simply having her lie with him gives. He wonders if it might be contentment that he is feeling.  
It's new and unexpected and he wants to hold on to it and to her for as long as possible.


End file.
